Your shield is
molded plastic,
and your sword
leaves cardboard-cuts.
Your gallant steed's
imaginary;
your fortress,
sand
from picnic cups.
And with a helm
of old swim goggles,
joyous battle cry
of 'yay'. . .
you always dreamed
of saving someone,
so you're off
to win the
day.

Would you run
to be the hero,
would you rush
to battle's thrill;
if you knew I'd
be your villain,
if you knew
you'd have to kill?
Would you smile
and charge the darkness,
would you let
your banner fly
if you knew you
weren't playing. . .
would you 'lead'
your friends to die?

You call it
so exciting,
that there's demons
here to slay.
Your naivete is
charming;
it will bite
your throat someday.
Yet you don your
lady's favor--
a lucky charm from
Mommy Dear--
you lift your lance
of hopes and dreams,
you laugh and
feel no
fear.

Would you volunteer
for hero,
would you rally
on the fight;
if you knew I
was your shadow,
if you knew
the cost of
light?
Would you stand
against the darkness,
'carpe diem'
be your cry
if you knew I
hadn't ever changed. . .
would I still
have to die?

Standing on the
fine line,
and David's
feeling tall.
You sling your
stone to flying,
but Goliath
will not fall.
Guess you haven't
caught the clue yet--
maybe faerie tales
ain't true--
maybe someone might
get hurt here,
maybe playtime
might be
through.

'Fore the beast
of burning armor,
all your plastic
melts away.
Your Excalibur
incinerates,
the ashes of
your play.
Trembling at
the talons,
you try
to raise your
spear--
I suppose they
didn't tell you that
your dreams won't
save you
here.

Would you yearn
to be a hero,
would you leap
into the fray;
if you knew I
was the sickness,
if you knew
the price you'd
pay?
Would you try
to banish darkness,
would you raise
your banner high
if you knew
the game was over. . .

Would you want
to play the hero,
if you knew that
heroes die.



~The Mad Poet (A.K. LaBelle) ??/01